Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I fake a laugh as I give him a high five.
“Touchdown.” He smiles broadly.
What?
Well, if that isn’t the most awkward thing I’ve ever done.
“Let’s go paint the town red.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Or not.
As we walk out the front door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like I’m about to throw up . . . that’s probably because I feel like I am. We walk to the driveway, and the blood drains from my face.
All of it.
Every last drop.
His car is florescent green and has a big wing on the back, as if it’s a race car, and it has a huge antenna, as if he’s intending to talk to space.
Only it isn’t a race car or a spaceship—it’s a family car pimped out to look like a race car.
Fuck me . . .
“Isn’t she great?”
“Yes.” I smile awkwardly. “Great.”
“I love my cars like I like my women. Fast and hot.” He laughs out loud, and I’m so embarrassed for him that I laugh too. He holds up his hand for another high five.
I awkwardly slap it.
Help.
I glance up to see Blake walk out his front door. He’s in dress pants and a sport coat and looks like he just stepped out of a magazine.
This can’t be happening.
I practically run and dive into the Kermit the Frog car and slam the door behind me.
Mr. No Name gets in behind the wheel, and Blake casually drives past in his brand-new silver Porsche.
Vroom, vroom, vroom. Mr. No Name revs the engine.
I look over at him. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what she’s capable of.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “Powerful.”
“You know it, baby.”
Beads of sweat begin to drip down my back. This cannot be happening.
He revs the engine a few more times for added effect as I stare out the window, feeling like I’m in a bad episode of Pimp My Ride. I consider jumping out of the car and lying on the road so that he can run over me. I’ll do anything I can to get out of this date.
Mr. No Name happily chats all the way to the restaurant while I continue to sweat like a pig. We park the car and get out, and then it dawns on me: I want to be in there first, before Blake arrives, so he and his date don’t have to watch us walk in.
This is awkward enough.
“Come on, we can’t be late.” I begin to power walk in front.
“Hold up, old girl.”
My eyes flicker red. Old girl isn’t something I want to hear on a date, you dickhead.
We push through the doors, and I march straight up to reception. “Hi, we have a booking under the name Dalton, for four.”
She looks through her booking sheet. “Ah, yes, this way.” She walks through the restaurant, and we follow her to a nice table in the back. Kind of hidden—good. At least something is going right.
“Can I get you a drink while you wait?” the waitress asks.
“Yes,” I fire back without hesitation. “I’ll have a margarita, please.”
“Oh,” Mr. No Name gushes, “onto the hard stuff, huh?” He holds his hand up for a high five, and I awkwardly slap it.
“Make it a double.” I fake a smile.
The waitress smirks as she writes down my order. She knows exactly what’s going on here.
“I’ll have . . .” He looks through the drinks menu and begins to read every single line of every single page. He keeps reading and reading.
We wait.
We wait some more.
The waitress and I make eye contact, and I try to send her a telepathic message. Poison my drink so I can get the hell out of here, bitch.
She smirks again, as if reading my mind.
He keeps reading and reading, and this is just unbelievable.
Just order something, fucker!
“I’ll have a draft beer,” he finally says.
I stare at him deadpan. Ten minutes of reading, and all you came up with was a tap beer?
Dear lord . . . hurry up, Blake.
“Your drinks will be out soon,” the waitress says before disappearing into the back.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week,” he tells me.
Oh no . . .
Now I’m a bitch. He’s trying to be nice, and I’m just being a bitch.
“Me too,” I reply. It’s not a lie. I was looking forward to it before he showed up.
Now, not so much.
“Here you go.” The waitress puts our drinks down in front of us and gives me a wink.
Fast.
“Thank you.”
“Thanks, love,” he says.
I glance up to see Blake standing at the reception desk with his date. She’s a beautiful blonde with a figure to die for. He’s holding her hand, and they are laughing at something as they talk.
They look like Barbie and Ken on crack.
Oh hell, just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.
I pick up my margarita and take a huge gulp as I glance around for the nearest exit.